Judas' Kiss
by pheonixfeather94
Summary: When Lily Evans returns to Hogwarts for her sixth year, she is far from excited. Her friendship with Severus ended bitterly in a humiliatingly public display, leaving her friendless and alone. But with a little help from an endearingly odd assortment of characters, Lily will learn how to pick herself up off the ground, and find out that everything does indeed happen for a reason.


**Author's Note: **Hello all, and thanks for stopping by! This will be a Lily/James origins fic, spanning the Marauders' sixth year at Hogwarts. While I do plan on having plenty of L/J interaction, please keep in mind that the focus of this fic will be character development, and my view of that transition from the Lily and James we see in Snape's Worst Memory to the couple we know they eventually become in their seventh year. As such, there will be little—if any at all—romantic action between the two of them. Hopefully that doesn't scare too many of you away!

Also, all errors that you see are mine—grammar, spelling, cannon, etc.—as I don't have a beta reader. Feel free to point out any issues that you see in a review. All standard disclaimers apply, and I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One**

_"What an evil character Betrayal thinks he is! It is the wise who know differently of course.  
For even the betrayal of the almighty Christ Himself was accompanied by the  
sweet caress of Judas' Kiss." _

* * *

I had taken the photograph back in January, before anything had happened, and after The Incident, I had promptly tucked it into the bottom of my trunk and forgotten about it.

The weight of the metal frame was heavy in my hands as I brought it up to my face to inspect it closer. It was the first picture I'd taken with the wizarding camera Severus had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday. The camera itself was sitting on my nightstand—a hefty, antique artifact that I had fallen in love with as soon as I'd seen it; thinking of the amount of money Severus must've paid for it, though he had adamantly refused that it'd been worth it, had always made my stomach squirm uncomfortably.

It was really a terrible picture. The lighting was all wrong, a small table lamp and a roaring fire casting conflicting shadows over Severus and I, seated closely on a plush couch in the Room of Requirement. My hair—longer then, a mass of curls—was tangled around my shoulders, fringe swept awkwardly across my forehead. I had been the one holding the camera, my arms reaching across the frame and cutting off just below my elbows, and my eyes were unfocussed, staring up and to the left, to the place where my finger had pressed on the shutter. Severus, too, was at a strange angle, torso craning away from me in an attempt to avoid my wild mane of hair, but we were both grinning from ear to ear, both flushed with excitement. I watched with a heavy ache in my chest as every few moments, my photographed self turned around and pressed an enthusiastic kiss to Sev's cheek.

The girl in the picture seemed so far removed from the one I saw every morning in the mirror, in more ways than just the usual physical progression of growing older. Yes, my hair was shorter now and I had grown another few centimeters over the summer, but my eyes were also more cautious, more guarded, and the lines around my mouth were harder—the products of a long, lonely summer of secrets and silence. I was a mess, but this girl, the one in the picture—she was fine.

"Lily?"

My mother's voice just outside my bedroom door made me jump, and I spun around, dropping the frame down onto the bed behind me. She poked her head just inside, and smiled. "Are you ready, darling? We need to get a move on."

"Yeah," I said, turning back around to face my trunk. "Yeah, I'll be right down, Mum."

Her retreating footsteps sounded down the stairs, and I reached out once more for the frame. I let my eyes travel over it for one long, last second. Part of me was struck with the impulse to shove it to the bottom of my trunk and take it with me. Instead, I folded it carefully in an old scarf, and tucked it up on the highest shelf of my wardrobe. Without a second look, I secured the fastenings on my trunk, dropped the strap of the camera down around my neck, and walked out the door.

* * *

I'd had almost three months to prepare myself for seeing Severus again, but when it happened, I still wasn't ready.

I dallied inside the compartment that the five other Gryffindor girls had decided on, checking and double checking that my trunk was securely tucked into the bin overhead. As the other girls chattered on, I barely listened, contributing only a few noncommittal hums here and there. When I couldn't put off leaving for the Prefects' meeting any longer, I slid open the door, and he was there.

For a moment, we just stared at each other through the small window in the opposite compartment's door. I automatically noticed the small changes in him: his hair was longer, swinging farther down into his face, which was, if possible, even narrower than when I'd last seen him. He was sitting down, but I could tell that he had grown at least a few centimeters and kilos, as his robes were stretched taut across his slender shoulders, the sleeves stopping just a few inches short of his wrists, which were crossed over his chest.

I wondered, for a moment, what changes he saw in me.

He blinked once, slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable, before the door slid open with a clatter. I started, and the moment was gone; just as quickly as we'd made eye contact, he turned his head away, towards the window, and it was like he'd never seen me at all.

Evan Rosier, a Slytherin seventh year, stepped out of the compartment and sneered down at me.

"Lost, Mudblood?"

I kept my eyes trained on Severus, looking for any sign of reaction to Rosier's cutting vocabulary, but he didn't so much as flinch.

I looked away, swallowing thickly, and tried to push down the heat I could feel rising up my neck—a sure sign of an impending temper flare. Without answering him—without even looking back at him—I pulled the compartment door shut behind me, and headed down the corridor.

Hands still trembling slightly, I reached the Prefects' compartment to find the meeting already in full swing. Pippa Weatherly, a seventh year Ravenclaw and the new Head Girl, turned around in her chair to look at me, stopping mid-sentence.

"Hello," I said stupidly. My eyes cast around the table where my twenty three fellow Prefects were seated, looking for a head of sandy blonde out of pure habit. They landed instead on a head of messy black that was also familiar, but for an entirely different reason. I blinked, three times in quick succession. "Erm—"

"Please sit down, Evans. We're already running behind schedule, and we've got quite a bit to cover." Pippa held a stack of parchment out towards me, shaking it rather impatiently.

"Right." I felt my face flush hot. "Sorry."

Two Hufflepuff girls scooted farther around the table to make room for me, and as I sat, I was painfully aware of each pair of eyes trained on me. I had hoped that three months would be long enough for people to move on and forget about last year's debacle; apparently, I had hoped in vain. The looks the other girls were shooting me ranged from scathing to sympathetic, and the boys just looked terrified, as though at any moment, I might lash out at them, too.

I tried to focus on what was being said, but my mind was entirely too scattered. I shuffled through the papers Pippa had given me, barely registering what they were. I kept glancing up, my eyes automatically jumping across the table and two seats to the left as I wondered over and over again why in the world James Potter was seated around the Prefect's table, instead of Remus Lupin.

Suddenly, his eyes flashed up to mine, and I realized I had been staring for much longer than was appropriate. My face flushed red again, and I dropped my gaze back to the table, but not before I saw the hesitant upturn of his lips, or the poorly-suppressed curiosity that peered out from behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

When Head Boy Brian Thomas called an end to the meeting an agonizing hour and a half later, I could hardly remember two words of what had been said. I stood, haphazardly gathering my papers into some semblance of a stack before shoving them into my bag, eager to get away from prying eyes. When I looked up, Potter was at my elbow.

"All right, Evans?"

"Where's Remus?"

We spoke at the same time, our words blending together into an incomprehensible sound. A terse moment passed, during which several of the Prefects turned to look.

Potter blinked, clearly taken aback, and floundered for a moment before answering. "He—he resigned his Prefecture. Several weeks ago. Sent his badge back to Dumbledore. I'm guessing—" He paused, taking in my stricken expression. "I'm guessing you didn't get his letter."

My mind flashed to the stack of unopened letters I'd left on my nightstand. "No," I told him, a half-truth, "I didn't. Why—why would he do something like that?"

Potter glanced around at the twenty or so Prefects left in the compartment, his tongue darting out to swipe nervously across his bottom lip. He took a step closer, and I fought the urge to take a matching one back. "Maybe we should talk about this later," he said in a low voice

Comprehension dawned then, and I felt my stomach roll sickly with guilt. In my mind, I saw the crimson walls of the Gryffindor common room and the pale face of a blonde-haired boy. I swallowed, compulsively, pushing back the lump that had risen in my throat. "Oh."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, but the monosyllable seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the assembled crowd. Several people snorted, others huffed, but most began moving again, slinging their bags over their shoulders and filing out of the compartment.

My face very nearly sizzled with the intensity of my blush, but I forced my chin up higher and my eyes over to Potter. His expression was soft, something dangerously close to pity in his eyes, but he had his own measure of guilt dancing across the lines in his forehead and the downturn of his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said, and I had that feeling—that one that wriggled uncomfortably in my gut—that he wasn't only apologizing for the momentary embarrassment.

I caught the corner of my bottom lip between my teeth, and dropped my hands to pick at a loose string in my robes. "I'd really rather not talk about it right now."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and for one terrifying second, I just knew he was going to press the issue, but something pulled him up short. He nodded once, jerkily, and hitched his bag farther up on his shoulder. "All right. Shall we?"

I glanced towards the door and felt the overwhelming weight of all the similar situations I would inevitably meet in the days to come. I wasn't ready to deal with them, and probably never would be, but I had no choice but to take that first step out into the corridor.

So I did.

* * *

_I first met Severus on a hot July day, the summer before I started the second grade. We were new to Preston, my father just having taken on an overseer position at Riversway Mills, and my mum had sent my sister and me out "exploring"—her way of getting us out from underfoot so that she could unpack our tiny house in peace. _

_Petunia and I walked down the neighborhood streets, kicking rocks with the scuffed toes of our trainers and picking wildflowers to braid into crowns. All of a sudden, the tiny little lane opened up into a monstrous field, with a playground smack in the middle. Petunia and I looked at each other, identical grins spreading across our faces, and took off through the waist-high grass. _

"_I call swings first!" I yelled, diving towards the swing set and landing across my stomach on the thin rubber belt. Quickly, I twisted around, righting myself in the seat. "Push me, Tuney!" _

"_Push yourself!" she shot back, clamoring up into the other swing. "Just use your legs, like I told you."_

_I gripped the chains, pumping my little legs back and forth as hard as I could, but I still couldn't get as high as her. Scowling, I looked on as she drifted higher and higher. _

"_That's no fair," I whined. "Your legs are longer than mine." _

_She shrugged as best she could from several meters up in the air, her white-blond curls flouncing around her shoulders. "You'll just have to swing harder, then." _

_With newfound resolve, I held on tighter, worked my legs harder, and found myself soaring up through the air. A gleeful giggle escaped my lips. _

"_Tuney, look!" _

_I lifted my face farther up to the sky, and laughed again as I felt my stomach drop. I looked out across the field, and was struck with the strangest urge to jump. I pumped once, twice, three more times, and then let go._

"_Lily!"_

_Petunia's scream should've scared me, but it didn't; I was flying, and somehow I knew I would land on my feet just fine. I floated farther and farther through the air and tripped lightly down to the ground a hundred meters from the swings. _

"_Lily!" _

_This time, Petunia's shout was more angry than terrified, and I turned in time to see her running towards me, her face screwed up in rage. _

"_Mummy told you not to do that anymore!" _

_I felt a pang of guilt, and looked around quickly to make sure no one had seen. _

"_I didn't hurt anyone," I protested defiantly. _

_She grabbed my hand and began pulling me back the way we'd come, towards the house. "Nobody's supposed to see," she insisted, voice low. "They'll—they'll think you're some sort of…_freak_ or something."_

_I jerked my hand away and stopped, crossing my arms over my chest as the heat rose in my face. "I am not a freak! You're just jealous 'cause _you_ can't fly like _me_!"_

_Petunia looked wildly around, her face a mask of panic, and then froze, eyes locked over my left shoulder. Fear gripped cold in my stomach, and I spun around to see a boy standing just behind me. _

_He was my age, if not a little bit older, and even though it was the middle of July, he had on a big black coat that hung down past his knees. The tips of his fingers could just be seen poking out of the ends of the sleeves, even though they had been turned up at least three or four times. His hair was funny, too—long and scraggly, badly cut, hanging down over his eyes. I felt myself relax a little—obviously, he wasn't going to do us any harm. _

"_Who're you?" I asked, peering at him curiously._

"_I know what you are," he said, ignoring my question. I felt my forehead crinkle as I frowned. _

"_Lily." Petunia's voice was tight, urgent. I glanced back over my shoulder at her. "We need to go. Now."_

"_You're not a freak." _

_I looked back at the boy, caught between following my sister and satisfying my piquing curiosity. _

"_I know what you are," he repeated. "And you're not a freak." _

"Lily_." _

_Decided, I turned to face the boy, and took a step towards him. Behind me, Petunia huffed._

"_All right, then," I said, narrowing my eyes challengingly. "If you know so much, what am I?"_

_His dark eyes glittered excitedly, and his pale cheeks began to flush. "You're a witch." _

_I wheeled back in shock, anger instantly sparked. "That's not a very nice thing to say to someone!"_

"_No!" he protested, jumping forward to grab my wrist before I could turn away. "Not—not like that. You're…magic." _

_I stared at him, unblinking, and he continued on, tripping over his words in his excitement. _

"_You're magic. You're special. You can do things—wonderful things—that no one else can. Like—like this!"_

_He cast around for a moment, before finally spotting something on the ground and seizing it. He held it out to me, a withered flower bud that rested gently in the palm of his hand. Carefully, he curled his fingers around it, and when he opened them up again, the flower was in full bloom, the blossom almost too big for him to hold in one hand, a brilliant yellow in color. Speechless, I reached out with trembling fingers and picked it up. He smiled rather smugly. _

"_How—"_

"_That's _enough_!" _

_Petunia stomped up behind me, grabbing my arm, and it was as though her shrieking voice broke the spell. The flower shriveled up once more. _

"_We're going home now," she said shortly, and began dragging me away. _

_As I stumbled over my feet, I looked back at the boy, who was still standing in the same spot, breeze tugging at his odd coat and tangled hair, and his words echoed in my head. _

You're magic. You're special.

You're a witch.

* * *

**A/N:** Loved it, hated it? Either way, drop me a review! Let me know what your favorite parts were, or how you felt about the characterization.

And before I get any comments about Lily's memory—which I'm sure I will, as it deviates some from Snape's—I'll go ahead and address it here. In my first draft, I tried really hard to stick with the script from DH for that particular scene, as I'm somewhat of a cannon-nazi myself. But the Lily in my head just wouldn't have it written that way. I suppose I'll just chalk it up to the fact that no one remembers an incident the exact same way as someone else—we all put our own unique spins on things.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and I look forward to hearing from you all!


End file.
